Not always entirely
by puzzlepuzzle
Summary: Oneshot. Lacus Clyne, contrary to belief, was not always entirely perfect, or however most saw her to be, far from it even. This is her story, the fragments of the war, the aftermath, and the facets of Lacus Clyne that few ever realised, would exist.


Not always entirely

* * *

Lacus Clyne, contrary to very popular belief, was not always entirely perfect, or good, or pure, or whatever most saw her to be. 

Far from it, sometimes.

* * *

She was not always entirely kind. 

She may have sung well-wishes for the world, regardless if they were mostly Coordinators like her, or hateful Naturals who would go as far as to use her as a ransom to save their own kind, Fllay Allster had been one such person. Out of the kindness of her soul, she had sung the gentle songs that PLANT had loved. Or so it should have been. But once, Lacus wished that she hadn't been so tolerant of the girl and had strangled her instead of extending a warm hand, because this girl still had a hold on the only man she had ever loved, even after her death itself. Kira had that lost look in his eyes sometimes, and she knew it wasn't entirely because of the war.

* * *

She was not always entirely confident in her abilities. 

The first time she sang for an audience, she had been a nervous wreck. It was admittedly different from singing in front of her rose garden, but even she knew that, especially when there had been thousands in that one hall. And she had been so afraid, so afraid that they would jeer at her and see, only a politician's daughter, and not her. It had been difficult. And to this day, she cannot remember how she lasted the ordeal with the blinding stage lights and magnified volume of her own voice, only that fame came soon after and the rest was, as they say, history. She became PLANT's princess, she still is known as that, yes, but the memory of shaking hands and a dry throat and the desperate, silent prayer that she would not croak still haunts her now and then.

* * *

She was not always entirely tactful. 

Cagalli had once sighed and remarked that she always knew what to say, but Lacus only remained silent, thinking of the time when she had tried to make Athrun smile during the war. He had been snappish, quite uncharacteristic of him, and she had been a little startled, but it had been her fault.

"You don't expect me to smile during the war, do you?"

She should have thought of that, shouldn't she?

* * *

She was not always entirely patient. 

They never understood that at times, a deep rage boiled somewhere, it manifested during the First War, she believes she went berserk at some point or another, in the Archangel itself. And there wasn't anyone to notice anything, but she knew she had been capable of killing at that point, the frustration of the pointless war and the paradox of fighting for peace instigating the urge to kill even though she was an advocate of the Eternal.

* * *

She was not always entirely forgiving. 

How she hated Fllay Allster at times. Beautiful with striking red hair and grey eyes like dew, lush figure, pert face, mellow voice, soft hands, graceful fingers. Kira had loved her, hadn't he? And once, he had kissed Lacus, but a second later, murmured something that had made her stiffen and feel as if he had broken her. He had apologised later, but Lacus would never forgive him, not for the one time he had told her that she reminded him of Fllay at times.

How she hated them sometimes.

* * *

She was not always entirely guiless. 

The wars had done that to her. Her thoughts were sometimes cynical, sardonic even. And Kira never noticed because she never let him. The only time when she had slipped was during the screening of a girl who looked and sounded entirely like her but couldn't be her. The Archangel's crew had been silent, a very pregnant silence, but all she had done was to smile a little wryly and remark something she knew, made Kira look strangely at her.

But there was a strange satisfaction in the deepest pit of her body, she didn't care what he thought of her then. She was entitled to some angst, as much as he was.

* * *

She was not always entirely of help to anyone and everyone. 

It was difficult, remaining in the bridge and trying to be calm while Kira, Cagalli and Athrun, and the rest were all in their mobile suits, fighting and disarming during the First War. She had felt entirely useless then, and when the Freedom had been blasted apart, she had abandoned her seat and sprang to the window in terror, shouting his name over and over again, not caring that she had truly lost her composure and that Andrew Wartfeld would see her in such a state. And in the Second War, she wondered why they needed a person who looked and sounded like her. Perhaps they were tired of her passiveness and inability to take an extreme stance. She wondered if she was truly useless then.

* * *

She was not always entirely strong-willed. Quite the opposite, actually. It only took a glance from Kira to abide to his request, even though she hadn't wanted to give him the Freedom and lose him to a world outside the shelter where people were waiting to kill those who protected her. But she found that her will crumbled like clay walls, the minute he looked silently at her. And she had once promised herself that she would never sit in a mobile suit where thousands had sat and killed their first human and subsequently lost their humanity. But much later, during the Second War, all it had taken was Kira's promises and soft, persuasive words, and she had found herself sitting in the Infinite Justice, shivering as they left the darkness of space and entered Earth's orbit where the Archangel was waiting. 

She was terribly glad that Kira had been holding her hand as they moved into the orbit.

* * *

She was not always entirely eloquent. 

As a child, she had been. As a young woman, addressing the Coordinators, her words had flowed smoothly, easily, and they had listened. But when Cagalli, unable to join them and fight in the Messiah battle, had stepped aboard the Archangel for the final time and hugged her, she hadn't known what to say. Her words had jammed in her throat because the fiery girl had Kira's features but a more wild beauty than she had ever seen in anyone, and Cagalli Yula Atha was her most precious friend. Friends were supposed to help each other.

And she knew that Cagalli was leaving someone very precious behind, but Lacus couldn't do anything about it.

The only consolation she received was seeing Athrun embrace Cagalli tightly, and she was slightly comforted to feel Kira's hand on her waist, steadying her.

* * *

She was not always entirely selfless. 

She agreed to join the Supreme Council of PLANT because the world needed her, and more because she knew there was really nothing left for her to start with. After the Second War, returning to the house by the sea had only been a dream, it was a wreck, thanks to Dullindal's assassins, and it would have been too unfair to impose on Markio and the children. She was very aware that accepting the post of the mediator would earn the money needed to rebuild the house and her dream of living there, peacefully, quietly, with Kira and the children who'd lost their parents. So joining hadn't really been to aid the wrecked world, not when the wrecked house still looked beautiful and scenic in her fast-fading dreams.

* * *

She was not always entirely brave. 

She didn't have the courage to ask Kira to stay in PLANT with her, for her. He had his own life to catch up with, many opportunities to pursue his own dreams, go back to ORB, help Cagalli, do research, complete higher education, all that and just to live the way he should have from the start.

She tried to be glad and tell herself that he wouldn't have to be bound to anything, anymore, lest of all her, not after this war was over.

But when the doors were flung open and she turned around and saw Kira, wearing the white ZAFT Commander uniform, she found that her feet were running fast towards him and she was throwing her arms around him and he likewise, in a matter of minutes.

The soldiers stared, Yzak Joule's eyes softened, Shiho Hahenfuss looked a bit surprised in the pleasant way, Athrun looked slightly wistful, perhaps she knew why, and the rest, oh, what did it matter?

* * *

She was not always entirely the princess PLANT thought her to be. 

They welcomed her, yes, demanded even, that she join PLANT's Supreme Council. And the support had helped her regain some of her lost confidence, she who was 'Clyne's weakling heir', in the words of the assassins anyway.

She blundered her way at work sometimes, but Yzak Joule managed to cover up for some of her mistakes here and there. He never said anything, and she was always grateful to him, but felt slightly guilty that she wasn't perfect at politics the way she ought to have been.

* * *

She was not always entirely naive. 

Because she knew she wasn't Kira's first lover.

* * *

She was not always entirely giving. 

Mirallia Haww once visited and passed her a few letters Fllay had written for Kira after he had gone missing during the First War, during that battle with Athrun when they had nearly killed each other. They had found those letters one day, addressed to him, just in case Fllay's wildest dreams came true.

"What do you want me to do with these?" She asked quietly, "I have no right to hold onto these, they were addressed to Kira."

Mirallia sighed, closing her aquamarine eyes for a second. When she opened them again, her voice was wistful, "I know. But I trust my sixth sense, and I think Kira doesn't care and will never care again."

"We have no right to decide for him," Lacus said wanly, even though the flutter of hope had beaten like the wings of birds.

"It's best that you decide then," Mirallia said comfortingly.

Kira had told her that he had never really loved Fllay, he had been besotted with her, yes, but he hadn't loved her, at least, he thought he had, one time or another, but during the war, he had realised the truth, but it had been just before the battle with Athrun that had killed Tolle, Nicole, and nearly both of them.

Was Lacus supposed to feel comforted at that?

The grey eyes, stunning and lingering, the vibrant, blood-coloured hair, the firm peach skin, everything, and she wondered if she was fighting a loosing battle.

She opened them after the girl left- apologies, thoughts, a little unstructured, messy, some smudged with obvious tears. And a particular one with the words Kira had never even proclaimed to her, Lacus, boldly sprawled across the yellowing paper, made Lacus decide what was best for Kira there and then.

She burnt the letters so entirely that not even the ashes remained.

* * *

She was not always entirely cheerful. 

Sometimes, she felt like crying for hours. When Leon refused to stop bawling, she felt like joining him. And she never tried calling Kira to ask what to do, she was Leon's mother, she would figure out what was making him cry herself. Kira would have helped, consoled her and the child, taken her into his arms, been the man she loved him for being, but she was too proud to say she didn't know what to do at times. And so, she would be slightly moody until he came home.

* * *

She was not always entirely innocent. 

And she knew that Kira was enamoured by this side of her, a facet not clearly seen or often manifested.

* * *

She was not always entirely successful. 

Articles in prolific editorials, newspapers, all those, they always featured a beautiful woman with deep azure eyes, cherry-blossom hair, milky skin, flawless figure, previously sickle but now made even more desirable after her pregnancy, her pink, ripe lips, her heartbreaking smile, all in some gown the designers fought to present to her. If Lacus Clyne wore it, the women of the world would crave for such a possession. And the people lusted after the child-woman, loved her songs, worshipped her voice, prayed for their children to be as beautiful as her child and for their sons to find women like the songstress of PLANT, if that was even feasible or possible in the first place, that is. And in their eyes, Lacus Clyne could do no wrong.

But once, she sang a lullaby for Leon, and he began to cry.

She stopped, immediately.

* * *

She was not always entirely good-tempered. 

Leon was mischievous, a 'holy terror', in Athrun's words. Of course, Athrun didn't have his own children yet, so he was a bit of an alarmist at this kind of thing, Kira reckoned. But when her neatly-arranged drawers, filled with belongings, were messed up and damaged, or found dirtied in the garden, Lacus was inclined to agree with Athrun.

She finally got tired of simply admonishing Leon, he was old enough to know he was irritating her, and so she smacked him good and proper. He didn't cry, he looked shocked that his doting mother had hit him, devastated, even. But she felt queerly satisfied.

Later he apologised, and she apologised too, and hugged him gently, glad to feel his soft, small arms encircling her. But he had seen another side to Lacus Clyne that the world was not likely to ever view or even experience.

* * *

She was not always entirely accepting of her child. 

Sometimes, she wondered why he couldn't carry a tune but could program the haros to sing for her in complex choral arrangements.

She was overjoyed, mind you, that he was talented, and healthy and handsome, with large blue eyes and chocolate hair like Kira's, but she was a little disappointed that he took after Kira's sometimes placid ways and would daydream while she tried to tell him something important.

She rarely sung, even when Kira requested often and Leon was eager to hear her melodious voice filling the air. She often thought of the words she had sung and felt slightly embarrassed at her own voice, not that it wasn't beautifully clear and sweet, just that she didn't quite feel up to it these days.

* * *

She was not always entirely supportive of her best friend. 

When Cagalli refused to take time off from work for Athrun, she felt a little regretful that her best friend was so headstrong. It certainly did not help that Athrun and her best friend were incorrigible work horses.

And Lacus wondered if she ought to speak up, but decided not to.

That would have been even more unsupportive, wouldn't it?

* * *

She was not always entirely all-knowing and deductive. 

She never knew that Athrun and Cagalli were living apart until her best friend told her, nearly a year after the incident itself.

But they hid it so well anyway, that she, or Kira, for that matter, had never actually found out, although they suspected that the marriage was facing a little difficulty, but it was normal in any case, nothing to worry about.

Cagalli's pregnancy, untimely, especially with the pending divorce, that had stunned her through and through.

She wondered if she would have known if Cagalli hadn't told her what had happened.

* * *

She was not always entirely living a fairytale. 

She quarreled with Kira at times, not the bursts of anger and fire Cagalli was so prone to dealing out, but a silent, cold, proud anger. And when either she or Kira finally apologized to one another, she would feel as if she was the cause of the marriage going sour. But it always worked out eventually, he would still hold her and tell her without actually saying it in that quiet, not obtrusive way of his, that he loved her. It always worked out, thank God; just that it wasn't exactly the fairytale the world envisioned it to be.

* * *

She was not always entirely intelligent. 

She got tired of remaining passive while a woman and man she loved tore each other's heart apart, and she demanded that Cagalli listen to what Athrun had to say, and vice versa. Cagalli had refused to, she was very proud a woman.

And when Kira told Lacus that the twins Cagalli was expecting were to have emerald eyes that Athrun would have no doubt passed on to them, and that Cagalli was planning to manipulate the genes to formulate amber eyes like hers, Lacus had simply stormed.

Cagalli refused to take her calls for an entire week, and Lacus knew that she had been rather rash, but that was that.

* * *

She was not always entirely sure of herself. 

There was a period or two when she always felt down, even with Kira beside her, silently loving in hid steadfast ways and Leon, precocious and talented, a beautiful child the world eagerly watched, seeing how he would grow up.

She went to the doctor in secret; he was the best in town, and obviously a busy man. She didn't put her real name, just some random name, in case the paparazzi cooked up stories about her going insane or rubbish like that. All she wanted was some headache pills and someone who didn't know her too well, or who wouldn't have preconceived notions about her, to offer a listening ear.

He was looking down, scribbling prescriptions and doing what doctors were supposed to do.

She sat down, waiting for him to address her, but when it became clear that she was to speak up first, she did.

"I have a headache," she told him.

He didn't look up, just hemmed and scribbled a hurried prescription for her, he had other clients, some high-profile, this one woman would have to deal with her headache with some strong pills herself, he really didn't want to waste too much time on one patient and-

She grew tired of the man who paid little attention to her, none, in fact, and blurted out, "I've lost the inspiration to sing."

"Look," he said snappishly, still not looking up, "I have a perfect cure, just take my personal music collection," he reached below his table, the other hand still scribbling furiously, "And listen to all the tracks by Lacus Clyne. She has the voice of an angel, perfect inspiration for someone who has lost hers to sing, and if she cannot cheer you up, nobody can."

There was an awful silence.

He finally glanced up and saw before him, a beautiful fairy-child but with weary eyes. And he lost his ability to speak, and his hand went slack upon the paper he had been scribbling on so furiously for the last five minutes.

"You don't understand, Doctor," she said slowly, "I am Lacus Clyne."

* * *

Lacus Clyne was not always entirely many things the Coordinators or the world for that matter, envisioned her to be. 

But through it all, she always found Kira, reaching out to steady her, and Leon, always running and demanding to be held, for her to kiss him or hug him at least, and sometimes, just being like that solved all the times when Lacus felt she wasn't always entirely perfect.

She remained silent, wondering if the sun was taking such an exceptionally long time to set for her sake, and allowing the child to bury his small head adoringly in her chest, and she felt Kira's strong, tanned arms starting to encircle her waist. She leant back and laughed.

"Sing something," Leon requested, his large eyes filled with hope and adoration. The pink haro which had suddenly switched allegiance in favour of Leon began to chime, "Go on, go on!"

She hushed it with her free hand, the other playfully mussing up Leon's brown hair. It heeded her hush, and rollled around the grass rather aimlessly.

She glanced at Kira, he simply smiled. Enigmatic, but loving anyhow.

She breathed and inhaled the scent of the evening air, the flowers in the garden were beginning to bloom, roses, those were. Her rose garden.

And she parted her lips and began to sing.

* * *

The End.

* * *

Author's note: 

And that's that, people. I've always wanted to do a segment like this, on Lacus, because she was never a very deep character in GS/GSD, which is somewhat of a pity. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did, writing it, and many of the segments of this one-shot were, strangely, fragements of dreams. Please r&r, tell me what you think of it.


End file.
